
Class- 
Book_ 






,* 



Abraham Lincoln 



AN ADDRESS BY 



Hon. Newton Bateman, LL. D. 







Abraham Lincoln 



An Address 



Hon. Newton Bateman, LL. D. 



PVBLLSHED BY 

The : Cadmvs : Clvb 

0ALES5VR0, ILL. 
MDCCCXCIX 






3fe 



• 



This little volume is its own excuse for 
existence. Dr. Bateman's family have au- 
thorized its publication, in compliance with 
very many requests from friends of the au- 
thor. The lecture as delivered, will live in 
the memories and hearts of the many who 
have heard it, as will the vivid and impres- 
sive personality of the speaker. We believe 
tli at its intrinsic worth demands the per- 
manence of print, that the audience may not 
be limited to those who have been privileged 
to hear that eloquent voice, now stilled. 

We hope to follow this monograph very 
soon, by a volume consisting - of Dr. Bate- 
man's life and lectures, for which we be- 
speak the welcome with which our father's 
words were always received by his loyal 
"Boys and Girls'' of Old Knox. 






- — — — — 



PERSONAL REMINISCENCES OE 
ABRAHAM LINCOLN. 






& 



!S2 
2J2I 

2S2S 



BRAHAM LINCOLN was born in 
Hardin County, Kentucky, February 
12, 1809. 

I first met him in the cit} T of Spring- 
field, Illinois, in 1842, and from that 
time till his departure from that place 
for Washing-ton on the 11th of Febru- 
ary, 1861, I saw much of him in the 
court room, on the hustings, at social 
gatherings, in the State House, on 
the streets, and elsewhere. 

But it was not till my removal to 

Springfield, in 1858, after my first 

election to the State Superintendency 

of Schools, that my personal acquaintance 

with him can be said to have been close and 

intimate. 

Soon after his first nomination for the 
Presidency, finding his modest little house 




Personal Reminiscences 

on Eighth Street, in Spring-field, too small 
for the throngs of visitors which pressed 
upon him from all parts of the country, his 
friends installed him in the Executive Cham- 
ber of the old State House, where he contin- 
ued to hold daily receptions till his departure 
for Washing-ton the following February. 

My office during the whole of that period 
of nearly eight months, was in a room ad- 
joining the one used by Mr. Lincoln, and 
communicating with it by a door which was 
usually wide open,— at Mr. Lincoln's re- 
quest—to secure for both rooms a better 
ventilation, and to afford relief to his often 
over-crowded chamber, the surplus frequent- 
ly overflowing into my office while awaiting 
their turn to see Mr. Lincoln. Nearly 
every day, during the summer months, he 
would pass from one room to the other, shak- 
ing hands and chatting with his friends and 

callers. 

It was during these eight months in which 
I heard and saw him every day, for several 



of Abraham Lincoln. 

hours, that I had excellent opportunities of 
observing- and studying- the man. 

I do not need to say to you that there was, 
in Mr. Lincoln, a quiet but keen sense of 
humor. No reference to him would be com- 
plete that should omit this characteristic. 
"The little story," of which he was so fond. 
and which he often turned to such good ac- 
count, is blended with all our notions of the 
man. He was himself a capital story-teller, 
— an artist indeed in that line. He knew how 
to select and arrange the material, what to 
put in the fore-ground, what in the back- 
ground, what to set up as the central 
figure, and how to make all converge to- 
wards the final climax. He knew how to 
whet curiosity just enough to hold the at- 
tention of all to the end, without giving 
the least clue as to the nature of the final 
explosion; and he especially excelled in that 
supreme generalship which enables an ac- 
complished story-teller to keep his reserves 
out of sight till the opportune moment, and 



Personal Reminiscences 

then suddenly deploy them with dramatic 
effect, and make the story end with their 
dashing - charge. 

His manner in these pleasantries is not 
to be described. It was usually very quiet — 
never boisterous, but so piquant and pecu- 
liar; such a twinkle in his eye, such woik- 
ing-s of his mobile face, such lurking fun 
in his tones, and such quaint drolleries of 
expression. 

One thing in this connection is note- 
worthy; in not one of hundreds of stories 
which I heard him tell, was there the sem- 
blance of malice or venom — no personal cut 
or sting. However broad the travesty, keen 
the wit, or side-shaking the burlesque, he 
was careful never to wound the feelings or 
trifle with the sensibilities of any man, 
present or absent. His humor was the over- 
flow of a gentle and tender nature, and as 
free from malice as the prattle of a child. 

He would tell a storey with as much de- 
light and zest at his own expense as at the 

8 



of Abraham Lincoln. 

expense of another, — rather more, if any- 
thing - , I often thought. 

One of his favorite places of resort in 
Springfield when seeking rest and social 
recreation, was the little consulting room, 
south of and adjoining the Supreme Court 
Library, in the old State House, and the Sec- 
retary of State's office in the same building. 
Entering the latter one morning after his 
return from court in Petersburg", Menard 
County — and when hacks and stage coaches 
were the only means of reaching that place 
— seeing a number of us standing about, he 
said: "Sit down, boys; I have a little story 
to tell you." A circle was soon formed 
around the stove, and he began: "Going to 
Petersburg the other day, I was the only 
passenger in the hack. A.fter we'd gone 
about a mile from town, the driver, whom I 
didn't know, turned around to me and said: 
'Have suthin warmin', Mister?' — it was a 
cold day, — at the same time handing me a 
suspicious looking black bottle. ' No, thank 

9 



Personal Reminiscences 

you' said I, 'I don't drink.' The driver 
looked surprised, but lapsed into silence and 
drove on. After awhile he turned around 
again with the remark: ' Have one, Mister?' 
reaching- out a handful of old stogy cigars, 
such as used to sell in Kentucky, 'seventeen 
for a cent, bit a barrel, and two for noth- 
ing - .' 'No, thank you,' said I, 'I don't smoke.' 
This time the driver looked more surprised 
but said nothing. Two or three miles 
further on, pulling from his pocket a plug 
of tobacco half a foot long and as black as 
tar, he poked it toward me, saying: ' Have a 
chaw, Mister?' 'No, thank you' said I, 'I 
don't chew.' At this his face was a picture 
of blank astonishment, but he drove on in 
silence. Half an hour or so afterwards, 
turning around again, he said, with a con- 
cerned look and tone: 'Mister, I'm a'f eared 
for you ! ' ' Afraid for me ? ' ' Yes I am — 
I'm downright oneasy about you ! ' ' Why 
so,' said I. 'Well, I'll tell you. You don't 
drink, nor smoke, nor chaw; and I've no- 
lo 



oj Abraham Lincoln. 

ticed all my life, that when a man hain't 
got no little vices, like them, he's mighty 
apt to have big - ones — I'm really consarned 
about you, Mister !' " 

Mr. Lincoln was often pitted at the Bar, 
against a very eminent lawyer, of Spring- 
field, who was extremely careless, almost 
slatternly, in his dress and manners. In a 
certain cause in which they were engaged 
as opposing counsel — a cause of no great 
intrinsic importance — Mr. Lincoln, after 
his adversary's masterly review of the evi- 
dence and clear statement of the legal prin- 
ciples involved, plainly perceived that unless 
he could execute some sort of a flank move- 
ment so as to break the force of that speech, 
he was certainly defeated. His quick eye 
had already discovered an irregularity in 
his antagonist's personal appearance. Ris- 
ing in his turn to address the jury, he 
said: "My learned friend has made an able 
speech to you. He has analyzed the testi- 
mony with his accustomed acuteness and 
11 



Per so nal Rem in iseen ees 

skill, and laid down to you the law with his 
usual ability and confidence. And I am not 
going- to assert, positively, that he is mis- 
taken, either as to the law or the evidence. 
It would not become me to do so, for he is 
an older and better lawyer than I am. 
Nevertheless I may properly make a sug- 
gestion to you, gentlemen of the jury. And 
I now ask you, and each of you, to look, 
closely and attentively, at my friend, the 
counsel on the other side, as he sits there 
before you, — look at him all over, but espe- 
cially at the upper part of him, and then 
tell me if it may not be possible that a 
lawyer who is so unmindful of the proprie- 
ties of this place as to come into the pres- 
ence of his Honor and into your presence, 
gentlemen of the jury, with his standing 
collar on wrong-end-to, may not possibly be 
mistaken in his opinion of the law? That 
is all I have to say.'" 

The explosion that followed this speech 
may be imagined. All eyes were turned 

12 



of Abraham Lincoln. 

toward the luckless object of it, and, sure 
enough, there the learned barrister sat, with 
his standing- collar buttoned on wrong-, and 
its two points sticking out behind, like 
horns. 

I need not say that Mr. Lincoln was 
incapable of indulging in such pleasantries 
in a trial of any serious importance. 

One of the most impressive incidents in 
Mr. Lincoln's life as a lawyer that I ever 
witnessed, occurred in a murder trial of much 
notoriety at the time. 

The court room was crowded — excitement 
ran high — Mr. Lincoln, who was for the de- 
fense, had just made one of his calm, clear, 
plain, and forcible speeches. Firm^ be- 
lieving- that his client was innocent, it was 
evident that he had made the jury believe 
so, too. The senior counsel on the other 
side rose to reply. Noting the effect on the 
jury of the speech just made, he was deter- 
mined to counteract it at all hazards. 

"Well, gentlemen, " said he, "you have 

13 



Personal Reminiscences 

heard Mr. Lincoln — 'honest Abe Lincoln,' 
they call him, I believe. And I suppose you 
think you have heard the honest truth — or 
at least that Mr. Lincoln honestly believes 
what he has told you to be the truth. I tell 
you, he believes no such thing-. That frank, 
ingenuous face of his, as you are weak 
enough to suppose, those looks and tones 
of such unsophisticated simplicity, those ap- 
peals to your minds and consciences as sworn 
jurors, are all assumed for the occasion, 
gentlemen; all a mask, gentlemen. You 
have been listening- for the last hour to an 
actor, who knows well how to play the role 
of honest seeming, for effect." 

At this moment, amid breathless stillness, 
Mr. Lincoln arose, and with deep emotion, 
and an indescribable expression of pain upon 
his gaunt features, said: "Mr. — , you 
have known me for years and you know that 
not a word of that language can be truth- 
fully applied to me;" and sat down. 

The lawyer hesitated a moment, changed 

14 



oj Abraham Lincoln. 

color, and then his better nature regaining 
the mastery, he turned to Mr. Lincoln and 
said calmly and with much feeling - : "Yes, 
Mr. Lincoln, I do know it, and / take it all 
bark." 

The whole audience broke out into an ir- 
repressible burst of applause, as the two 
gentlemen approached each other and shook 
hands, after which the trial proceeded. 

If great and sudden prosperity is one of 
the supreme tests of character, that of Mr. 
Lincoln was founded on a rock. 

After his nomination, and still more 
after his election, he became at once 
the central figure in the nation, and for 
seven months his reception-room in the old 
State House was daily thronged with visi- 
tors, including large numbers of the most 
distinguished men of the country. During 
all this time, 1 saw more or less of him every 
day, as I have said; yet by no word or act that 
I ever witnessed did he manifest the slight- 
est pride or elation or any consciousness 

15 



Person a 1 Rem in isccn ccs 

even, that he was the "observed of all ob- 
servers." 

One of the most touching- incidents of this 
time, was his hearty and delightful recog- 
nition of the poor men and women whom he 
had known in the days of his obscurity and 
poverty, numbers of whom called to see him. 

No matter with whom he might be con- 
versing- — whether judges, or senators, or gov- 
ernors — when one of these old friends called 
he would instantly excuse himself, hurry 
forward, take the timid or embarrassed per- 
son by the hand, offer a chair and talk of 
old times with all the simple familiarity of 
former days — unmindful of the magnates in 
his room, and often to their astonishment 
and apparent disgust. 

One day, w r hen his room was filled with an 
unusual number of distinguished people, in- 
cluding a New York senator, a visitor was 
announced, — for Mr. Lincoln had given a 
peremptory order to the janitor to refuse 
admittance to nobody, more especially not 

16 



of Abraham Lincoln. 

to exclude any of his old friends, — whose ap- 
pearance must have amazed some of the very 
elegant gentlemen present. It was an elderly 
lady in homespun, with a large, red, moth- 
erly face hidden in the recesses of an old- 
fashioned sun-bonnet, holding in her hand 
a parcel done up in coarse brown paper and 
tied with a cotton string. Mr. Lincoln 
recognized her at once as an old friend — 
handed her a chair, sat down by her side, 
and in the most simple and unembarrassed 
way began to talk about her folks, looking 
around occasionally, to see if his distin- 
guished guests heard and appreciated her 
quaint remarks and sayings. Presently, 
with some shyness, she untied the parcel, 
and handed Mr. Lincoln the contents — an 
immense pair of woolen stockings — remark- 
ing: "I know 'taint much, Mr. Linkin, 
but I spun all that wool, and I knit every 
stitch of them stockings with my own hands, 
and I thought maybe you'd accept of them 
for old acquaintance' sake." 

17 



Personal Reminiscences 

Tears came into his eyes as he gratefully 
took them, assuring- her that if elected, he 
should take them with him to Washington, 
where he was sure none such could be ob- 
tained. And then, still talking and laugh- 
ing, he took the articles by the tops, one in 
each hand, and held them up in triumph 
before his guests, who all joined in the 
merriment, the senator remarking, as he 
scanned the very long and narrow things: 
"The lady had a correct apprehension of 
your longitude and latitude, Mr. Lincoln." 

Another day, ( after the nomination but 
before the election ), an elderly man, an old- 
time friend, called and said: "Good morn- 
ing, Mr. President." "Not yet," was the 
repl}'. "We mustn't count our chickens 
before they are hatched, you know." 
"Well," rejoined the man, "Maybe yourn 
aint quite hatched, but they're peepin' 
sure." 

vSimilar incidents were of almost daily oc- 
currence — these may serve as samples. 

18 



ol Abraham Lincoln. 

Souvenirs of almost every description were 
brought from near and far and presented to 
him in that famous reception room, both 
during and after the canvass, until it re- 
sembled a museum of curiosities. The arti- 
cles were of all sorts and sizes, — some very 
quaint and curious, some cheap and home- 
made, others elegant and costly; canes in 
great variety, from the woods of Indiana 
and Kentucky, and from the shops of Broad- 
wav. There were pieces of old rails that he 
had split, fragments of the log cabin in 
which he had lived, dilapidated specimens 
of the furniture he had made and used, stray 
bits of the surveyor's instruments he had 
once owned, mementoes of the Black Hawk 
war, in which he took part, books, pictures 
and engravings. There was a rustic chair, 
composed of thirty-seven little saplings, one 
from every state in the Union and each 
piece labelled with the name of the sender, 
and of the State whence it came; and an 
immense wooden chain of thirty-seven links, 

19 



Person a 1 Ron in is ecu res 

all carved with rare skill from a single piece 
of timber, and designed to symbolize the in- 
dissoluble union of the states. Those two 
articles, with many others, remained in the 
room until Mr. Lincoln left it for Washing- 
ton, and were seen by thousands from every 
part of the country. 

The presentation of each one of the hun- 
dreds of articles, of which I have named but 
a few, was the occasion of a little speech or 
story, or at least of a few pleasant and be- 
fitting- words from Mr. Lincoln, nearly all 
of which I heard: for, as already said, the 
door between his room and mine was almost 
always open, and he always talked in so 
loud and merrj' a tone on these occasions, 
that every word was perfectly distinct as I 
sat at my desk in my own room. 

He would often call me in to see some 
particular^' rare or queer thing- that had 
been brought him, or to introduce me to 
some old friend — in which latter case the 
formula was generally about as follows: 
20 



of Abraham Lincoln. 

"This is my little friend, the big- school- 
master of Illinois." 

In a conversation about our rooms, before 
he took possession of his, I expressed my 
fears that he and his friends might be inter- 
rupted by the loud talking of the folks who 
would be calling to see me on school busi- 
ness nearly every hour of the day. "Never 
mind about that," said he, "If you can 
stand my noise, I can stand yours.*' 

Let it not be supposed that no graver 
scenes were enacted in that reception room, 
than those to which I have thus far referred. 
These were only the lighter incidents of 
those passing days, each one of which had 
its hours of deep and anxious conference 
touching the state of the country and the 
portentous shadows that even then were 
rolling up from the South. If there were 
these brighter tints upon the canvas, they 
but served to deepen the darkness that was 
gathering in the back-ground of the picture. 
Many a pale, earnest face, of statesman and 

21 



Personal Reminiscences 

patriot did I see by Lincoln's side in these 
memorable days, and often was his face the 
palest' and most earnest of all. As the 
probability of his election gradually ripened 
into moral certainty, the exceeding gravity 
of the situation impressed him more and 
more ; and, knowing as I did, something of 
the deeper nature of the man whose lighter 
moods only, were seen by the many, and 
what a weight of foreboding was on his 
heart, — it was often a marvel to me how he 
could go through the social ordeals of each 
day as he did. 

The months passed in that reception room 
were turned to the best account by Mr. Lin- 
coln. Meeting there men from every portion 
of the country, he was afforded rare facili- 
ties for increasing his already remarkable 
knowledge of the American paople, and 
of the gigantic political problem, the solu- 
tion of which he was soon to undertake. 
Those daily receptions, therefore, were not 
merely occasions for the interchange of 
22 



of Abraham Lincoln. 

social and personal courtesies, but for the 
study of the g-eneral situation, and of those 
intricate and delicate questions which would 
inevitably confront his administration, at 
its very opening - . That room was a school 
to him, and to the uttermost did he improve 
its advantages. 

"I am perfectly astonished," said a tall 
and handsome Mississippi Colonel to me one 
day, after a long- conversation with Mr. 
Lincoln; "I expected to find a fierce and 
ignorant fanatic, but I find instead, not only 
an affable and genial gentleman, but a wise 
and moderate statesman. I find myself 
forced to believe him honest and upright 
and just; and, to tell you the truth, almost 
to love him, in spite of myself. Why, our 
whole southern people are deceived in regard 
to that man." And so on. 

This is but a sample of a revulsion of 
feeling and opinion, wrought by an hour's 
conversation with Mr. Lincoln on political 
matters, in the case of many gentlemen 

23 



Person a I Ron in isccn ccs 

from the South, who had not before seen or 
heard him. 

Mr. Lincoln was extremely careful and 
cautious in his statements, whether of facts 
or of opinion. He was accurate and exact 
—he aimed at the precise truth. He would 
never be positive unless he was sure. This 
marked characteristic of his mind gave rise 
to certain forms of expression, which were 
peculiar to him. Whoever heard him in 
Court, before the people, or even in earnest 
discussion with a neighbor at a street cor- 
ner, in which the expression : "It seems to 
me," or "It appears to me," or "It does ap- 
pear to me," did not occur again and again? 
I suppose I heard him use those phrases, 
especially the last one, thousands of times. 

His habit of accuracy was illustrated at 
my expense on a certain occasion, when I 
submitted to him for his opinion and criti- 
cism, a certain paper that I had written. 
(He had invited me to consult him freely. ) 
The object of that paper was to show the 

24 



of Abraham Lincoln. 

complexity of our form of government. In 
it was this sentence: ''More questions of 
constitutional law have arisen in the United 
States, during the brief period of our na- 
tional existence, than in England in the 
last five hundred years." "Well," said he, 
after reading the sentence, "That is a mat- 
ter of arithmetic. I can't tell you whether 
that is right or not, and I don't see how 
anybody can, without going to the records 
and counting the cases, on each side. As 
precision is not important to your present 
purpose, it does appear to me, that if I were 
you, I would loosen that statement a little 
— take the arithmetic out of it !" 

I thanked him, and retired with an able- 
bodied flea in each ear. 

Mr. Lincoln was very fond of children. 
His surviving friends in Springfield will 
never forget the long-familiar spectacle of 
his towering form in the street with Rob or 
Will or Tad, or all three, perhaps, at his 
s id e — no r his exhaustless imperturbability 

25 



Per so n a I Rem in iseen ces 

and good-humored patience at the pranks 
and antics of his boys. They would some- 
times be sent to hasten his steps homeward 
to dinner or tea. Promptly sallying- forth 
from his office, he was sure to be stopped by 
some friend or neighbor at nearly every 
street corner, for a little chat — for somehow, 
the very streets seemed brighter when Abra- 
ham Lincoln appeared in them, and the 
moodiest face lightened up as his gaunt 
figure and pleasant face were seen approach- 
ing. But these detentions were not appre- 
ciated by the boys, whose keen appetites 
stirred them on to get Paterfamilias home 
as soon as possible. In the course of these 
efforts by the youngsters, the future Presi- 
dent of the United States was very often 
placed in very amusing positions and atti- 
tudes. The spectacle of two little chaps 
tugging and pulling at his coat-tails, while 
the third pushed in front, was often beheld 
—while Mr. Lincoln, talking and laughing, 
and pretending to scold, but all the while 

26 



of Abraham Lincoln. 

backing under the steady pressure of the 
above-mentioned forces, raised his voice 
louder and louder as he receded, till it died 
away in the distance and further conversa- 
tion became impossible. He then faced 
about, and the little fellows hurried him off 
in triumph towards home. 

His patience and good nature seemed ab- 
solutely proof against all the petty annoy- 
ances of life— I often saw him depressed, 
bowed with grief, mournfully sad — or stirred 
with indignation — but irritated, and ruffled 
in temper, I never saw him. 

He was one day playing a game of chess 
with Judge Treat, in the little room back of 
the Law-Library of which I have spoken. 
At a certain stage of the game, "Tad 1 ' 
came to summon him to dinner. Knowing 
the boy's genius for mischief, Mr. Lincoln 
kept him away from the table with his long 
arms, still watching the game, till at length 
the little rogue's assaults ceased, and the 
father relaxed his vigilance. The next 



Personal Reminiscences. 

moment the table rose bodily in the air, 
tilted, and chess-board and chess-men rolled 
on the floor! The good Judge, much amazed, 
advised summary and condign punishment ; 
but Mr. Lincoln, after a moment's futile 
effort to capture Tad, who made fast time 
out of the State house, laug-hingiy remarked, 
(referring- to the state of the game when 
the catastrophe happened), "I guess that 
upheaval was rather fortunate for you, 
Judge ! " and quietly put on his hat and fol- 
lowed Tad home. 

The day after his nomination, Mr. Ash- 
man, president of the Convention, with a 
large party of distinguished gentlemen, 
members of the Convention, arrived in 
Springfield to inform Mr. Lincoln of his 
nomination, and to receive his reply. 

Mr. Lincoln had requested me to escort 
this party to his house. Mr. Ashman's 
address, and Mr. Lincoln's reply are matters 
of history. The aptness of Mr. Lincoln's 
words, and the unstudied dignity of his 

28 



of Abraham Lincoln. 

manner, in that trying- moment, in the little 
crowded parlor, surprised and delighted his 
g-uests, few of whom had ever seen him 
before. As he sat down, Mr. Boutwell, 
afterwards Secretary of the Treasury, and 
Senator from Massachusetts, whispered to 
me: "They told me he was a rough dia- 
mond — I protest against the adjective- 
nothing could have been more elegant and 
appropriate." 

Soon after, little Tad worked his way up 
to his father's side, and whispered very loud 
in his ear. Mr. Lincoln knew that nearly 
everyone in the room must have heard the 
whisper — but not the least disconcerted, he 
arose, and laughing, said: "You see, gen- 
tlemen, that if I am elected, it won't do to 
put that young - man in the cabinet — he can't 
be intrusted with state secrets." The ready 
wit of this pleasantry was immensely 
enjoyed. After the merriment had subsided, 
Mr. Lincoln, still standing-, remarked: "And 
now, g-entlemen, as you are already aware, 

29 



Personal Rem in /seen ees 

Mrs. Lincoln will be happy to meet you in 
the dining room" — and led the way to as 
pleasant and merry a tea party as ever gath- 
ered in that little house on Eighth street. 

A little incident, showing how truly his 
noble nature was interpreted by the intui- 
tions of children, may here be mentioned: 
A little girl who had heard Mr. Lincoln 
spoken of as "ugly" was taken by her 
father to see him. Whereupon she ex- 
claimed, "Why, Pa, he's not ugly at all, 
he's beautiful." 

In his oral reply to the committee, he said 
that he would in due time send them a 
written note, formally accepting the nomina- 
tion. Late one afternoon, a few days af- 
terward, he being alone in his room in the 
state house, and I in mine, he called me in 
his usual cheery way. Handing me a note 
written in pencil, he said: "That is my 
reply to the good people whom you brought 
to my house the other night. I think it is 
all right, but grammar, you know, is not 

30 



of Abraham Lincoln. 

my strong- hold; and as several persons will 
probably read that little thing-, I wish you 
would look it over carefully and see if it 
needs doctoring- anywhere." 

I took the paper and slowly read it 
throug-h. It was addressed to the Hon. 
George Ashman. In it was this sentence: 
"The declaration of principles and senti- 
ments which accompanied your letter meets 
mv approval, and it shall be my care to not 
violate it, or disregard it, in any part." 

Handing- the note back to Mr. Lincoln, I 
said that the language was all strictly cor- 
rect, with one very slight exception — almost 
too trivial for mention. "Well, what is 
it?" said he, "I wish to be correct without 
any exception, however trivial." Well, 
then, Mr. Lincoln, I replied, it would, per- 
haps, be as well to transpose the "to" and 
"not" in that sentence— pointing to the one 
just quoted. Mr. Lincoln looked at it a 
moment and said: " Oh, you think I'd better 
turn those two little fellows end for end, eh ?" 

31 



Personal Reminiscences 

"Yes," I said, "I guess you had" — and 
he did. 

Another scene I vividly remember: It 
was the nig- lit after the ever-memorable 
election of November, I860. The streets 
and public places were thronged with anx- 
ious people waiting- to hear how the battle 
had gone. It was known by some of the 
ladies that their husbands, brothers and 
friends would be up nearly all night, watch- 
ing for the telegrams from the different 
states; they therefore met, about ten o'clock 
in Watson's Hall, on the south side of the 
public square, with a good supply of re- 
freshments. The attractions of this place 
were soon widely known, and instead of the 
expected few, the ladies extended their hos- 
pitality to hundreds. It was a memorable 
night. Instead of toasts and sentiment, we 
had the reading of telegrams from every 
quarter of the country. As these came in 
from time to time, and the reader mounted 
a chair with the dispatches in his hand, all 

32 



oj Abraham Lincoln. 

was breathless stillness in a moment. If 
the news was unfavorable, anxious glances 
were exchanged, and for a moment the hum 
of voices would be restrained and subdued. 
But if, as was generally the case, the tele- 
grams told of fresh majorities for Father 
Abraham, they were greeted with shouts 
that made the very building shake. 

The entertainment was gotten up by the 
ladies, with special reference to Mr. Lincoln 
himself, and his personal friends; and again 
and again, as the night wore on, Mr. Lin- 
coln came in with a handful of dispatches, 
and by special request, mounted the chair 
and read them to us himself. At length, at 
a very late hour, a telegram w r as received 
from Philadelphia, and handed to Mr. Lin- 
coln. All eyes were fixed upon his tall form 
and slightlv trembling lips, as he read in a 
clear and distinct voice: "The city and 
state for Lincoln by decisive majority," and 
immediately added in slow, emphatic tones, 
and with a significant gesture of the fore- 

33 



Personal Reminiscences 

linger: "I think that settles it." So 
thought we all — and what congratulations 
and hand-shakings followed — how the glee 
club did sing — how hats did \\y into the air 
-what huzzahs rolled out upon the night — 
how men danced who had never danced be- 
fore — ( they do say that the feet of this wit- 
ness behaved in a very singular manner, but 
that could hardly have been!) How Mr. 
Lincoln looked on and laughed at the fear- 
ful and wonderful performances of the ama- 
teur Terpsichoreans — and how, between two 
and three o'clock in the morning, we all 
took him by the hand again, with a "good 
night 1 ' and a "God bless you," and separat- 
ed. 

On the eleventh of February, 1861, on the 
day preceding his fifty-second birthday, Mr. 
Lincoln set out for Washington. He had 
sent special invitations to a few of his old 
friends to accompany him as far as Indian- 
apolis. That I was included in the number, 
I shall be pardoned for remembering with 

34 



of Abraham Lincoln. 

peculiar pleasure. That note of invitation 
is preserved among- my most cherished 
memorabilia of Abraham Lincoln. I shall 
ever regret that imperative official duties 
would not allow me to join the party. 

But I accompanied him to the railroad 
station, and stood by his side on the plat- 
form of the car, when he delivered that 
memorable farewell to his friends and 
neighbors. Of those, an immense concourse 
had assembled to bid him good bye. The 
day was dark and chill, and a drizzling rain 
had set in. The signal bell had rung, and 
all was in readiness for the departure, when 
Mr. Lincoln appeared on the front platform 
of the special car— removed his hat, looked 
out for a moment upon the sea of silent, up- 
turned faces, and heads bared in loving rev- 
erence and sympathv, regardless of the 
rain; and, in a voice broken and tremulous 
with emotion and a most unutterable sad- 
ness, yet slow and measured and distinct, 
and with a certain prophetic far-off look, 

35 



Personal Reminiscences. 

which no one who saw can ever forget, be- 
gan: "My friends, no one, not in my posi- 
tion, can appreciate the sadness I feel at 
this parting-. To this people I owe all that 
I am. Here I have lived more than a quarter 
of a century. Here my children were born, 
and here one of them lies buried. I know 
not how soon I shall see you again. A duty 
devolves upon me which is greater, perhaps, 
than that which has devolved upon any 
other man since the days of Washing-ton. 
He never would have succeeded, except for 
the aid of Divine Providence, upon which 
he at all times relied. I feel that I cannot 
succeed without the same divine aid which 
sustained him; and upon the same Almighty 
Being 1 place my reliance and support. 
And I hope you, my friends, will pray that 
I may receive that divine assistance, with- 
out which I cannot succeed, and with which 
success is certain. Again, I bid j-ou all an 
affectionate farewell. " 

His pale face was literally wet with tears 

36 



of Abraham Lincoln. 

as he re-entered the car, and the train roll- 
ed out of the city, which Abraham Lincoln 
was to enter no more — till, his great work 
finished, he would come back from the war, 
a victor and a conqueror, though with the 
seal of death upon his visage. Some politi- 
cians derided the solemn words of that fare- 
well — but I knew they were the utterances 
of bis inmost soul — never did speech of man 
move me as that did. Seeing every mourn- 
ful tremor of those lips — noting every shad- 
ow that flitted over that face — catching 
every inflection of that voice — the words 
seemed to drop, every one, into my heart, 
and to be crystal ized in my memory. I 
hurried back to my office, locked the door, 
(for I felt that I must be alone), wrote out 
the address from memory, and had it pub- 
lished in the city papers in advance of the 
reporters. And when the reports of the 
stenographers were published, they differed 
from mine in only two or three words, and 
as to even those, I have always believed 

37 



Personal Reminiscences 

that mine were right, for the speech was 
engraved on my heart and memory, and I 
had but to copy the engraving. 

And so, Abraham Lincoln left Spring- 
held, and passed on to his great work, fol- 
lowed by the benediction and prayers, and 
by the anxieties too, of a loving people. 
Events soon proved that he had, indeed, 
undertaken a task greater than had been 
devolved upon any other man since the days 
of Washington. From the clouds that had 
been massing in baleful darkness along the 
southern skies, the red volts soon began to 
leap and the sullen thunders to be heard. 
The earth which had been rocking in the 
mighty throes of convulsion, now yawned 
beneath our feet, and we gazed into the horri- 
ble abyss. Years have passed since the flames 
ceased to belch from that black and bloody 
crater — the flowers of thirty summers have 
bloomed and faded upon its rugged slopes, 
hiding and softening the rifts and seams 
ploughed by the dynamics of war. But we 

38 



of Abraham Lincoln. 

cannot look calmly down it, even vet, for that 
a mighty host of our loved and bravest, lie 
there forever cut off from the light of the 
sun. There lie my kindred and yours, and 
there they will lie, till He, who is the Res- 
urrection and the Life, shall bid them come 
forth. 

But, though never more shall we clasp 
again those fleshless hands, or hear those 
vanished voices — though to most of us life 
can never again be as it was, by reason of 
the unreturning footsteps of sonsand broth- 
ers and fathers and friends, who left our 
sides so long ago — yet may we learn the les- 
sons of the struggle in which they perished 
—the ideas that rode like Cherubim, upon 
the wings of that crimson tempest. And in 
so doing we shall see the character and 
place in history, of Abraham Lincoln. In 
the intense blackness of that awful back- 
ground, the majesty of the man stands out 
in bold relief. 

The storm through which his brave heart 

39 



Personal Reminiscences 

and steady hands conducted the Nation, 
demonstrates the regency of moral ideas in 
history. It was the explosive power of such 
ideas, working- beneath a gigantic and pon- 
derous system of injustice and wrong, that 
culminated in the earthquake of 1861, and 
caused the cry of our agon}' to be heard 
through all the coasts of the world. Moral 
ideas are the mightiest things beneath 
God's throne — right and truth are imperial 
powers, armed with a Divine prerogative, 
and with the strength of a decree of God. 
And those were the forces that Lincoln was 
appointed to wield — these were the invisible 
legions that reinforced the armies of 
Liberty. 

Lincoln saw and believed and felt all this 
— and this it was that made him strong. 
V He recognized, as did no other American 
statesman of this century, the moral ele- 
ment in politics. He believed with all his 
intellect and soul, that freedom was right, 
and that bondage was wrong- — not merely in- 

40 



oj Abraham Lincoln. 

expedient, impolitic, but wrong-. This is the 
great, central, golden fact in his character. 
This is the glory that crowns him even 
now. Like the aureola ; and this is the force 
that is fast lifting him to an apotheosis 
among the perpetual kings, in the circum- 
polar skies of history. 

It is impossible to account in any other 
way for the place that Abraham Lincoln 
has in our hearts, and in the heart of Chris- 
tendom, to-daj. Not his intellect, char. 
robust and powerful as that was — not any 
masterliness of policy, for he was rather the 
interpreter of Providence and the agent of 
the popular will, than a Cromwellian origi- 
nator of bold policies — not his personal 
appearance and presence, for he was homely 
in person, and without elegance or courtli- 
ness of manners: no, it is in the light and 
glory of his moral goodness, his lofty aims 
and his fidelity to truth, that he stands 
transfigured to-day. 

" God peoples the historic Pantheon not 

41 



Person a I Re in in is cc n ees 

so much with intellects as with souls — less 
with geniuses than with virtues.'' Persons 
change to principles, — the material to the 
spiritual. Good men become the embodi- 
ment of an idea — their face becomes the 
face of a truth — their defects fall away 
with the years, and time, which clarifies, 
uplifts. Distance only reveals the grandeur 
of souls essentially great, till, like Mount 
Blanc to the receding traveller, they tower, 
lone and sublime, across the valley of ages. 
Nor let it be said that such idealizations 
of history are falsehoods, they are rather 
the grandest of truths. The world grows 
to what it gazes on. The face that hangs 
sun-like over our American history — the face 
of Washington — though doubtless much 
idealized, is true to our conception of the 
essential moral nature of the man. And it 
is essential moral grandeur and beauty, not 
brilliancy or genius, that makes that face one 
of love and power to the Nation — one of the 
mightiest historical forces beneath the sun. 

42 



of Abraham Lincoln. 

And henceforth, thus idealized, trans- 
figured, another face is to be set forever 
amid the lights of historic skies. As the 
pilgrim to that tomb in Mount Vernon feels 
the spell of a more than mortal influence 
coming- over and subduing- his soul, — so an 
awful presence wanders by noon and by 
night around the monument in Oak Ridg-e — 
but above that obelisk, higher than the 
Pleiades, shines a new star — evermore. 

To that, the muse of history will point 
down all coming time, as the symbol of 
heroic loyalty to God, to country and hu- 
manity — as the apotheosis of one who 
walked in the light as God gave him light, 
— of one who, in simple child-like honesty, 
carried this loyalty into the mightiest and 
most awful issues of human history — of one 
who, steadfast to the last, 4k In charity to 
all, in malice to none, 1 ' gave up life itself 
for duty. Does not such honesty and loy- 
alty of soul, possess an essential and a 
moral kingliness? Does it not claim, and 

43 



Personal Reminiscences 

shall it not bear, a perpetual scepter and a 
fadeless crown in the historic realm? 

It is startling - , to us who knew him so 
long- and so well, to think of one so near, 
and yet so far — of one so long beside us in 
the common and familiar walks of life, now 
thrown so high amid the everlasting lights 
of the moral and historic arena. 

But, I repeat, this idealization of Abra- 
ham Lincoln is surely in progress — his 
translation to a place amid the constellated 
names upon which the good will gaze for- 
ever, is already begun. All that was homely 
and common in the corporeal type and fea- 
ture of the man, is fading out and falling 
away. Robed in the beauty and grandeur 
of a soul, honest to its very core, and to the 
very death, he is to shine forth in the skies 
of the future, more glorious than the Belvi- 
derian God of light. 

I was the last of his Springfield friends 
to press his hands, as the train moved off 
on that lowering eleventh of February, 



oj Abraham Lincoln. 

1861. That hand, that good right hand, 
that had ever been lifted for the defense of 
the poor and needy, that afterwards held 
the pen and wrote the words that enfran- 
chised a race — I was never to take again. 

Four years and two months passed. The 
bells of a Continent wailed out a requiem 
knell. Every flag dropped to half-mast. 
Belts of latitude and longitude, and succes- 
sive States, were draped in mourning. The 
dirge that began in Washington and was 
taken up by State after State and city after 
city, died away at last in the streets of 
Springfield. Abraham Lincoln had come 
home, — and "never had conqueror in the 
past such a cortege and following." I saw 
him again: and as I gazed upon that form. 
pale, silent and marred, as it lay in state in 
yonder humble capitol, I felt that the trans- 
figuration of which I have spoken had 
already begun. History and death had 
touched that face to an awe and majesty 
that seemed to belong no longer to the sons 

45 



SEP 25- 



Personal Reminiscences 

of men. On that brow the assassin's mark 
was already changing - to the aureola — to the 
g-lory — and from the mute lips, the words: 
"In charity to all, in malice towards none," 
seemed mingling- with the hymns of history, 
down the aisles of all the future. 



46 



S '12 



<Y> 



